The Nexus

Loki dismissed the last of her appointments for that morning and watched the woman leave. It appeared the Tailors' Guild was being played for laughs on a business venture yet again. Their Guildmaster bordered on completely incompetent, and somehow she was the one who usually wound up hearing about it. She'd have to tell Lord Mycroft once again that taking blatant advantage of this was indeed a violation of antitrust laws, but then maybe it could wait until tomorrow. She did rather detest his roving eye, and he didn't even offer the courtesy of trying to conceal it. One more matter that she tended to hear about far too much.

Sometimes, I'm not sure whether my job is to help run this city or just know all its little secrets, she thought sardonically, leaning back in her padded wingback chair and suppressing a groan when this caused her to note the crick forming in her neck. Her eyes closed for a moment, and a pale hand tried to work loose the pang there, with a measured degree of success. Some days should really just end before they began. But then, she had not the luxury of making those thoughts into truths, and it was useless to wish it so. Might as well stop lollygagging about and get back to it. Loki's eyes snapped open, and she glanced at the clock on her wall, a rather elegant amalgamation of wrought iron and mother-of-pearl. There was still a bit of time left until the Queen would be expected to preside over Parliament, so she had a few minutes to make ready herself.

Only recently had Loki begun to attend herself, as she was quite certain she was finally of an appropriate age to use the excuse of learning from her mother. The woman resisted the urge to scoff at the mere thought. Oh, she learned, of course, but not in the way anyone thought she was. The Princess was ever a silent observer at the sessions, but she rarely missed a detail. It was a good thing, really, that she no longer had to employ a Guild spy as her proxy- there was so much more information to be gleaned from seeing things in person, with her own eyes.

-=-

Minerva Blackwood, currently occupied in the audience chamber, listened patiently as the scientist tried to explain why, exactly, the Crown should grant him more funding than Marchfield had seen fit to. Admittedly, his project did sound rather interesting, but she had no desire to be stepping on Dr. Vanderbilt's toes, and he likely knew what the chances of success were much more surely than she did. "Thank you for your petition, Mr. Barnes," she began by rote, and even she could hear the fatigue in her voice, which she hurried to mask as well as she was able, "but at this time, I am afraid your request will be denied. The Crown allots a research fund t Marchfield yearly, and whatever Dr. Vanderbilt decides to do with it is his purview. If you truly believe this project has a chance of success, may I suggest you take it up with him personally?"

The man, clearly dismissed, took his leave with a dejected expression, shoulders slumped, though the Queen could not have been happier to see him gone. Not because she disliked anything in particular about him, but because as soon as the grand steam-operated double doors creaked into place behind him, she broke into a coughing fit. It would not have been meet for a subject to see her in such a state, this she was constantly reminded of.

"Your Majesty!" The Queen's eldest bodyguard and attendant, Alia, rushed to her side, but Minerva held the other woman off with the hand not covering her mouth. After several seconds, and still gasping for breath, the monarch straightened in her seat.

"I'll... be all right. Just a little weary is all." Minerva smiled shakily, but Alia's lips pressed into a tight line, and she remained apparently unconvinced.

"The Princess says she may have found a doctor for you to see. One of Amon's people, since you still do not wish to make this public." The slightly-disdaining emphasis on 'Amon's people' was not missed, though the Queen wisely chose not to comment. How exactly her daughter knew who Amon's people were was something she did not quite understand, as she had only ever known the two of them to interact a few times, and nothing beyond the cursory at that, adverse as they both were to idle chatter. But...

"If she believes it will help, do send for this doctor later today... after Parliament." Alia's distaste was not masked this time, and though she would never show it, the Queen could not help but share that frustration. For as long as she'd occupied her throne, David Gilgamesh had been there to challenge her, and the man commanded a forceful charisma of the sort that her own quiet assurance had never been able to match in a public forum. Granted, it had been a bit easier lately, something that Minerva attributed to her increased experience in the political arena, but he was still as staunch an opponent as ever on the things she really cared about. Though they had been free of the Facility for fifty years, magi were still not citizens of Revelation, unable to organize themselves into a Guild because of it. She knew that if they did not have those rights soon, there would be revolution, and while the numbers were small, there was still a reason magi were feared, and the Queen did not want all that blood on her hands.

But, she reflected as she entered the Parliament building flanked by her daughter and her attendant, it seemed that even if she understood this, Gilgamesh did not. Or refused to; either way, the result was the same. The meeting, as usual, had already begun, though it seemed to have become a good deal more heated than usual, which had the Queen casting a worried glance to the floor as she ascended the platform upon which the thrones were located. She took the central one, and Loki the smaller one to her left. The one at her right, she did not even look at. It was too tangible a reminder of the corresponding emptiness inside herself, and twenty years had only done so much to soothe the hurt.

The announcement of their presence was made, but it would only interrupt business for a few moments when everyone present bowed, and then things would resume. From the keen look on Loki's face, her daughter was just as interested to know what was transpiring as the monarch herself.

"...There is no reason for us to continue these charades with anti-trust movements. If they make money for us, it will leave our economy untouched and going through all this trouble will just drain our resources. Resources that we don't have." The oily mustached senator said. The room rumbled, an undercurrent of agreement running like an electric current. Near the back of the room, a brown-haired youth's eye brows knitted together. The man continued. "It is only natural people are frustrated. They don't understand the hard work it takes to run a company such as their own. I believe they are acting simply like spoiled children. It is for the good of the city!"

The young man wore clean, thick attire today. His hair remained as untidy as usual, and around his shoulders was a fur coat latched across his upper torso by a chain. His epieu remained at his side, and hidden from view was a small flask. He sat leaning forward, with deep green eyes that gave off a soothing sensation. His skin was slightly grayed, but only his face was revealed. His body was heavily clothed, his hands were gloved.

Heads turned as the sound of tapping against wood was heard. The youth raised his hand from the table. "What is it this time, Lord Taylor?" The speaker said with contained distaste. These men were not stupid. They knew how to act, how to compose themselves.

"I politely disagree with your way of thinking, Baron Schwerer. I believe that their wages are too small to benefit our economy. You must see that because the people spend, the economy drives. When we deny our working class a good, steady income we ultimately lose out." Caelin replied. The man nodded stiffly. "Just as well, discontinuing our efforts to bust trust abusers will provide the same result. We are giving these company leaders a monopoly over their trade. They'll drive prices up so high our people who cannot afford these items will simply make do without them. Competition is what keeps the buyers coming back."

"Lord Taylor, you speak with such assurance, yet your family monopolizes the chemical factories! Should I suspect you to be a hypocrite?" The Baron interrupted.

"That is not-"

Suddenly, a courier came in and announced the presence of the Queen and Princess. Cut off mid-sentence, Caelin fell silent as the Queen entered the chambers, taking a seat with her daughter. She looked as strong as ever. He originally had suspicions that the Queen was ailing due to her unusually thin stature. Little did the lord know, the clothes hid her symptoms. Just as his clothes hid his own. He bowed respectfully, awaiting their seating before sitting down himself.

Turning back to the Baron, he cleared his throat. "That is not true, Lord Schwerer. I have maintained that I would keep prices the same, adjusting it as I see necessary. I have treated my workers well, and I am perfectly willing to-"

A hand slammed to the desk. A caped Count stood up. "I've had enough. You are avoiding the question, Lord Taylor. You still admit to owning a vast majority of the chemical companies, no matter how well you sugar coat your words. Your youth blinds you." He accused.

The fur-coated noble took the criticism calmly, his deep green eyes implying nothing but a soothing composure. "It is pride that blinds, milord." He replied. The Count's face remained impassive, though a spark flickered in his eyes. Ignoring this, Caelin continued. "By paying our laborers better, we ensure we have a loyal workforce. Starving as they are, they wouldn't mind simply just all leaving on strike. That would be disastrous for us. I have been to Delta. I fear that we push them too far."

"Yes, Lord Taylor, we know. You, and probably only you have been to the slums known as Delta. Why? To be ridiculed? You gain nothing from that experience, save perhaps illness. You only see them as the ungrateful savages they are. Gamma is only slightly better." An annoyed Baron retorted.

Caelin knew he was losing. This was nothing new- he lost all the time. He quietly receded from the fight. The tension suddenly eased, and the majority agreed that they would finish up this topic at a later date. For now, he had been able to stop the dissolving of the Trust breakers. Perhaps the market will become free now for aspiring large business owners.

His hand slipped silently to his chest, resisting the urge to clear his lungs. His hands shook as he replaced them on the table. It seemed colder than usual out. He wanted to calm his nerves and afflicted body by taking a drink out of the flask, but that was impolite and would only serve to undermine his reputation even more. The medicine had done extremely well in halting his symptoms and slowing the wasting of his body. The illness moved like molasses now- slow, steady, but easily maintained and monitored. As he focused back to the topic of discussion, his heart lurched as they started getting into civil rights and what to do with people like the Magi.

Loki watched the argument shoot back and forth between the two men with an increasing degree of interest. She had been aware, of course, that Lord Taylor was generally in favor of antitrust legislation and fair pricing, not to mention constitutional rights for magi, but he was a small voice in a small minority, or at least that had been the case. She was about ready to change her opinion until he seemed to visibly deflate, and conceded the fight without so much as a last word.

The Princess narrowed her eyes and leaned back in her ornate chair, considering. That man needed to grow a stronger spine, but there was still a chance... he seemed to have a better understanding of what he was fighting for than most like-minded individuals did; even Marquis Goldwater, the official 'face' of the radical movement in Parliament, did not deign to visit the site of the suffering he claimed to despise in all forms. Interesting... she would have to see exactly how far this man's devotion to his cause ran before she made any sort of move, of course, but it would not hurt to make discovering this a priority. Perhaps Amon would have a suggestion for who to put on it.

Presently, the subject turned to the magi, as it was wont to do in these halls, and the Prime Minister stood to make his speech. Gilgamesh was not a small man, but his voice could fill every last corner of a room when the occasion demanded it. That sort of talent, she had to respect, but at the same time, it seemed to eliminate the need for a subtlety that Loki found more impressive, and as a result, her overall impression of the man's talent was that he leaned on his charisma like a crutch rather than using it as a tool. Most injudicious. Now, if only she could figure out a way to undermine that charisma...

She contemplated slicing out his vocal cords and being done with it, but of course that was against the rules of the little game they all played. Her upper lip twitched, the thought alone almost enough to curl it into a sneer. Such a terrible analogy; though to some of these people, the lives of those they considered beneath them were doubtless even less valuable than pawns in an extravagant chess gambit. Gilgamesh was still talking, and while she usually made a point to try and listen to his spume, she had read this particular speech in advance, courtesy of a spy, which left her free to observe the reactions it was garnering.

Ah, how typical. At least half the room was completely enraptured. Perhaps allowing oneself to believe his religiously-justified drivel was indeed a form of bliss in ignorance. Ah, we mighty ones, we blessed ones, so do we guard the future of the worthy by destroying the present of the downcast! What mercy, what virtue, what sacrifice! It was about enough to make one sick, the subtext, if one allowed themselves to think about it. Her eyes drifted over a few less-satisfied faces and back to Lord Taylor. Were his hands... shaking? She might not have recognized it so easily were she not on such constant lookout for the same thing in her mother. Coincidence... or something else that bore looking into?

"Thank you, Prime Minister," her mother spoke, and Loki's gaze immediately snapped back to immediately in front of her, where the Queen was presently addressing the room from her chair, as generally happened once or twice per session. "I do believe, however, that by now we are all quite aware of your thoughts on magi. What remains to be decided, however, is whether or not there will be a vote on whether or not to bring the constitution as a whole document up for review. While certainly the possible inclusion of those once excluded will be a primary focus should this indeed happen, there are other things to be considered as well, and I think it is fair to say that nobody here believes the document ideal for today's Revelation in its present state. I will grant another opportunity for anyone who wishes to do so to speak on this matter uninterrupted, but after that I will call for the vote itself. Does any member of Parliament wish to be heard?"

Minerva watched Lord Taylor leave with sympathy. She’d been ill long enough herself to know that something was not quite right with the young aristocrat. She could only hope that whatever his prognosis was, it was better than hers. It might not be such a problem for him to send for a magi healer, after all. If she did and it turned out they could not heal her… that was news that she could not risk making it to the general public. The Queen was sharper than most people gave her credit for, but she was also more compassionate than her advisers believed she should be. She would not take the chance that she would have to send Amon’s assassins after someone who would only be trying to help her just to keep them silent. Still, the woman knew that if nothing changed, her time left in her beloved city was measured not in years, but months. The diseased fluid that pressed upon her lungs and made every breath a labor and an exercise in control was enough to tell her that. She was imply glad that she was still good enough at hiding things that not even her daughter knew that much.

Would Loki make a good replacement? Granted, she was the heir, and even if Minerva did not know exactly how much of a hand she had in what went on in Parliament, she would be a fool to believe that someone as sharp as her own child could possibly take the passive role she professed to languish in. No, she was quite the deft politician, but the Queen wondered if perhaps she was not too much so. As much as she hated to admit it, she saw in her child the potential for a tyrant. Perhaps a well-meaning one, but a tyrant all the same. Maybe she simply worried too much; there was no way to know these things now, and she was merely shortening her own chance to make things right by placing this much stress on what was for now still a hypothetical situation.

“Lords and ladies of Parliament,” she broke the silence that had ascended over the assembled. “As you are well aware, the chief matter at attention today is whether or not to bring the Constitution, the very foundation of our city, up for a review of its provisions. Revelation has existed now for the better part of a thousand years. All that was before us has been lost to history, save what we know in the form of the Elisian Church and its teachings. I am asking you now, however, not to consider the past, but the present, and the future. What we have today is a Revelation struggling to accommodate change. We can do as our predecessors did- sit back and allow this to happen, push the task of dealing with our troubles onto our children-” Minerva glanced quickly back at Loki, who appeared to be watching Gilgamesh with interest but was otherwise stonefaced as ever- “or we can be the generation that became the turning point, the generation that revitalized our world. For this reason, the Crown fully supports the measure before you. Now, without further delay, let us hear the votes.” It was not within the Queen’s power to cast a vote in Parliament itself, though she did have considerable influence upon lawmaking. This, however, was one thing the legislature had to do by itself.

-=-

Loki watched as the members alternately stood to voice their opinions, and clenched her jaw when her suspicions were confirmed. Along with the radicals and a few of the moderates, as expected, Gilgamesh and his faction voted for a revision. Which meant that he thought himself in a strong enough position to determine exactly what those revisions might be. Such a thought was almost worse than letting the Constitution stagnate, and it appeared that she had her work cut out for her if she was going to stop him.

“It has been decided,” the Queen proclaimed, a small note of surprise audible in her voice, followed by one of resignation as she doubtless reached the very same conclusion. “Discussion of this matter will begin tomorrow.” Loki caught the fatigue in her mother’s eyes and made a truncated gesture to Alia, who immediately made the announcement of their departure, allowing the three to exit untroubled.

This thing with the Constitution was of paramount importance, but it was going to have to wait another few hours. For the rest of today, Loki would be paying a visit to the world outside her walls. Her mother needed to see someone; either a doctor that would keep quiet or a mage with sufficient talent to actually fix her. Amon had mentioned that one of his agents was also a member of the Physicians’ Guild; she’d have to find him, then. Tomorrow, she would contemplate what to do with Taylor and Gilgamesh, among others.

-=-
District Delta

Aram Azazel was not the sort of man to pass up an advantage granted to him, and he'd seen the opportunity in contracting that young thief. He made a habit of congratulating himself daily on that one, actually; be it as he doled out some of his stolen-goods profits to his fellow beleaguered citizens or turned it to a much more useful pursuit: making good on another arrangement, this one with a Beta blacksmith whose mage son had been forcibly exiled to Delta by force of social exclusion alone. Unlike most, that man had put his son above his status, and was still infuriated that such a thing had happened. So angry, in fact, that he was now a supplier for the rebellion, or the Liberation Movement, as Aram preferred to think of it.

No, opportunity was never to be ignored, which was why the man sitting in front of him was currently being treated to the best tea he had, and a full meal, besides. A luxury even for him, but not as beyond his means as it was the average Delta citizen's. The scarred fellow, notable for the disfigurement of his left eye but perhaps not much else, was eating as though he hadn't seen food in a year, which might be true, if you refused to see what most of his people ate as 'food.'

"And you say this will not be traceable to me, or to the Movement?" Aram inquired casually, as though discussing the weather. Across the table, Ishtar shot him a look of mild disapproval, but in the end, she would not fight him on this, and they both knew it. "We are not yet strong enough to be made more than a rumor in the public eye, you see."

The man shook the shaggy head of dark hair, setting down his empty bowl. "There's at least tow or three people they'd think of before they even considered you," he replied in gravelly tones, "and one of 'em don't have a leg to stand on as far as defending 'imself goes." He appeared singularly unconcerned, but then Aram supposed that was what professionalism did to you.

"Very well, sir, you have yourself a deal. Might I inquire as to you name?"

The man looked up sharply, his single good eye boring into Aram like a needle. "No names," he said sharply. "I don't ask yers, you don't ask mine."

Aram held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, no names." It wasn't as though such a small thing mattered to him, not when the opportunity was this grand. Soon... soon his people would be free, and this was only the first step.

The knock on the door alerted the tired noble as he sat up in his office. Was it a call to attend today's... debate? He wasn't too sure- but he didn't remember getting a memo that a visitor would be meeting with him today. No, he was sure of it. Was his vision correct? Was he now to die because he found out too much? It hurt him slightly to consider the fact that the shrewd princess would have him killed the day after Eos spilled the truth in front of him. What made this very sensical was that he wasn't expecting a visitor. An Assassin? Quite possibly. Suddenly, Taylor seized himself before he could go any further. Paranoia was not something to be descending into this early in the game. She still needed his support- she couldn't kill him, yet.

"Come in, sir." He replied to the knock as calmly as his surprised voice would allow. He quickly sorted his work papers in preparation. He had been going over a small stack of forms from Beta when the visitor knocked on his door. The proper mix of chemicals was a delicate process, and as the head of the company even he can't afford to relax when his office is around the tanks of sometimes volatile compounds. Grown with a knowledge of these substances, he had a vague idea of what could mix, and a very clear idea about what NOT to mix. His father often entertained him with feats such as igniting an arch of bubbles, creating snaking foam structures out of a small amount of liquid, and changing the color of flames from orange to green to blue. Since the upper class did not consist of mages, this was an amazement to Taylor.

He (mentally) shook himself from his reminiscing and straightened once more.

---

District Beta

As the thick diameter of steel drove closer and closer to Scree the Rat, he knew fear for the first time in his poor rat life.

As soon as he was bid enter, Amon did just that, closing the door soundlessly behind him. Turning around, he studied his unwitting host for the briefest of moments before smiling thinly. Just like any other expression, it belonged on his face, though it would not be difficult to discern that there was something behind it, the slightest tensile tightness, a readiness for the unexpected, perhaps. Loki had told him point-blank that Taylor was not dangerous unless he was crossed, lacking the willfulness and wanton cruelty of some people, but he had ever been a man that formed his own impressions.

"Forgive me my... unconventional entrance, Lord Taylor," he spoke in the smooth tones of cultured politeness, bowing shallowly at the waist, "But it is perhaps more advantageous for both of us if I remain unseen." Amon showed the man his hands as he crossed the room, coming to stand in front of Taylor's desk, though far enough back so as not to unintentionally crowd. He slowly removed his shortsword from his waist, placing it on the ground in a gesture of good faith. The practical ramifications were minimal; he was otherwise armed and could kill a man with nothing but his hands if the occasion called for it, but the symbolic meaning was clear enough.

Lacing his hands together behind his back, the Guildmaster spoke once more. "My name is Amon Gregory, milord. It is one I understand you have heard recently, though not in precisely the way I had expected." Something flickered across the man's face then, but it was gone too fast to be truly deciphered. "The Princess has deemed it time that she show her hand, so to speak, and thus I have been sent. I expect you have questions, and I am here to answer what I am able. She regrets not coming herself, as well, but there are certain other matters that she must see to at the moment."

For all appearances completely at ease, Amon smiled again, but this time it was considerably more genuine. "I suppose that I could do you the favor of giving you a place to begin. I am an assassin, Lord Taylor, the Guildmaster, in fact. I have known Loki for a number of years now, and she frequently employs my agents for the purpose of gathering information. It was I who informed her of the Marquis's death, though I did not order the deed done and at this point have little more information on the culprit than you do, though if you are so inclined, I will tell you what I do know."

-=-
Marchfield Laboratories

Walsh listened intently, jotting down notes where he deemed it appropriate. It seemed that there was little information to be gleaned here, though; this man didn't seem to know much more than Walsh himself. Figures...

The scientist's final statement was a question, directed at Walsh. Holding back the tirade that threatened at such an obvious bait question, the detective tried to go for diplomatic. "Engines, trains, artificial magic," he said with a shrug, barely suppressing the disgust he felt at the word magic.

With that, though, the detective was done. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Vernazza," he intoned flatly, inclining his head. "If anything else strikes you, please do contact that Guard. I will leave you to your... duties." With that, Walsh turned smartly on his heel and exited, mind whirring away. He'd have to talk to Vanderbilt... not that he could do that without higher-level clearance, which he wasn't about to get unless he could prove it was poison, which was going to be problematic at best. The body was being committed to furnace tomorrow, and the medical examination was already complete.

He'd heard that the best suspect for the crime had escaped prison, too, which mean that he couldn't question the man. The escape in itself was most extraordinary; he'd never known anyone to make it out of the Facility like that. That place had been designed to imprison crafty mages, after all. But of course, any inquiry down this direction was quietly diverted, too, and he wondered who was squeezing the commander's throat so tightly as to manage that one.

It'd have to be someone high up... maybe another noble was responsible, and not that rebellion that people were whispering about, or the Guild? He'd have to think on it.

-=-
District Gamma

Loki wordlessly followed Zade up the narrow, creaking stairs and to the girl's apartment. There were several bottles and jars of chemicals present, but that didn't really arouse much suspicion. The redhead made a living setting things on fire, after all, and poison didn't seem her style. As far as Loki knew, killing people wasn't her style either, but it would be counterproductive to dismiss either notion entirely.

The injury in her arm was interesting, as was her present choice of wardrobe. Loki herself was fond of black, but Zade she knew to dress more brightly, and her current ensemble assuredly set bells ringing in one's mind that warned of thievery and clandestine activity. The former, the Princess had known about for a while, and the girl knew she knew, if the complete lack of alarm she exhibited at being caught thus was anything to go by.

She sipped her tea, an exotic, spicy blend that she had gathered from many such visits Zade preferred to milder sorts, and waited patiently for the inevitable question. When at last it came, Loki set her cup down and folded her hands in her lap, fixing her associate with an appraising stare. Holding her tongue for enough time to make the silence uncomfortable, she spoke. "Someone killed a nobleman, Zade."

Letting that sink in for a moment, she continued without waiting for a response. "I know how you feel about them, I do. They don't deserve what they have, and I know you feel you're getting back at them by stealing things. But... surely you didn't?" She infused just enough uncertainty in her voice to compel an answer, looking the part of the concerned colleague, a slightly too-nosy acquaintance perhaps.

An assassin! As he had predicted, but as the man explained himself, he realized his true intention was not to slit throats, but for information. The young nobleman listened intently to Amon Gregory, nodding as the assassin finished each point. So the Princess had wanted to visit herself- of course, as high royalty she had something better to do than visit a sickly young nobleman for anything else.

So, Loki was planning on releasing news of her race for senate? Of course, she should be assured that he had his support in all of this due to their agreement. "I see." was his only reply. When it came to dealing with assassins, Taylor had very little experience in the matter. He never consulted one, nor has the need ever arisen that he should hire them. His own police force of District Alpha had been able to solve all of his problems. He decided, that he would be as respectful as possible. Amon Gregory was the guildmaster, after all.

Ahh, Goldwater. Once again, his name comes up. He had heard, and dismissed it as a death by asphyxiation of an assassin, but Amon's revelations showed that his chemicals might have something to do with this murder. Lacing his fingers together, he leaned forward.

"And I will answer you to the best of my ability, Sir Gregory." He replied. "However, you informed me I would be able to ask questions of my own." He paused. "First, do you intend on ever killing me for the knowledge you and I both know passed in the dungeons? Second, do you think the Princess has a chance of securing Goldwater's seat? And third, as a reference, how much of the chemicals I produce has been used for your... business?"

Most of them were just out of pure curiosity. He already knew that the Princess was planning on running very soon, and he still had Gregory to recount his witness of Goldwater's murder before making any decisions in what may have transpired that fateful night.

A wry smile curved one half of the Guildmaster's mouth, and he regarded the nobleman with some measure of good-natured amusement. Not the condescending sort; on the contrary, he was rather impressed. "Loki did say you were rather direct in your cleverness, but I must admit I did not expect to be asked such blunt questions. Allow me to answer just as pointedly. Your third query first: Taylor Chemicals does about a fourth of its business with the Guild directly, and approximately another ten percent indirectly. We are most satisfied with your products." A nod of acknowledgement, as though this were nothing more than a simple business discussion.

Then again, for the two of them, it really wasn't. Amon's 'business' was, he freely admitted to himself, being excessively nosy and having a hand in everything that happened in the city. In addition to the death, of course. a member of Parliament such as Lord Taylor had the responsibility of being much more publicly responsible for what was essentially the same thing- without the actual assassinations. "Your first question is one I cannot answer to any degree of completeness. At this time, I have absolutely no intention to end your life. Not only is it illegal, I perhaps ironically find it to be distasteful to kill someone for their knowledge. This is not to say, however, that I would under no circumstances consider it. Indeed, I did consider it- what you are privy to is one of the Guild's darkest secrets, and the most dangerous part is that your knowledge is incomplete- as is Eos's. However, I have been informed in no uncertain terms that choosing to do so would end the most lucrative alliance I possess, and I have no wish to do that, or as it is, to take the life of someone inclined in your particular direction."

Perhaps that was a little too much directness, but Amon did not much care for where he stood in relation to the man's sensibilities- business was business, after all. "The second question is the most difficult one, and in truth, I do not know if the Princess will succeed. She is, as I'm sure you have surmised, quite good at what she does, but she is far from infallible, and still young. I do not believe it impossible, though, and she has my full support in her bid."

Amon paused for a moment, as though deep in thought about something, and then inclined his head. "If you find that I have answered your questions to your satisfaction, I would ask but one of you- is there a way I might see your company's sales records for the past three months? If not, I merely wish to know if a certain set of chemicals have been purchased in a group: namely, the ingredients for a fast-acting neurotoxin and a citrus concentrate. It is my belief that these agents were used together to kill Adam Goldwater, and that the death was simply made to look like the work of a strangler of some kind. I am of a mind to bring together certain... resources to find the answer, but this piece as yet eludes me, and any assistance you might provide would be invaluable."

-=-
District Gamma

The girl was afraid, and Loki sighed inwardly. That had not been precisely her intention, but she had forgotten that what passed for mild intimidation amidst the wolves was probably a fair bit more horrifying within the flock, so to speak. A quaint reference, that, one she'd discovered in an old book. Sheep were raised in the domes, of course, but wolves, which had apparently been some kind of large canine, were on the earth below, if anything could survive down there.

Setting her cup down, Loki reached into a pocket within her breeches, withdrawing an envelope and sliding it onto the table between them. "I believe you, Scheherazade, truly. But I had to know for sure before I gave you this. I ask you to consider what is written on it without judgement, and to take it as a friend asking a favor. If you find the terms agreeable, I'm sure I will see you again soon."

The Princess rose gracefully to her feet and left then, without another word, leaving the redheaded girl to her thoughts and perhaps an interesting revelation or two.

-=-

Carlisle, Loki's usual bodyguard, was not idle in his time off, either. In actual fact, he was running errands for Amon today, though if he knew either of them (which he privately suspected he was in a better position to do than most), it was probably a joint effort anyway.

He exited the doctor's office with a sigh. The man himself had not been in the front of his office (though he might well have been in the back, as Carlisle hadn't really bothered to check), so he'd left the missive with the pretty girl who minded the desk. He looked down at the remaining two sealed envelopes, adorned with the royal crest, no less, and double-checked the address on the one. District Delta? Who would they want to send a message to all the way out there? It had a name on the front: Pandora Elling. Carlisle didn't recognize it, but he figured this Pandora person must be pretty important.

That one, he stuck underneath the door to a nondescript warehouse, having been told to be as discreet as possible with its delivery, and the last would be dropped off at Marchfield on his way back, at the receptionist's desk for one Mr. Giacomo Vernazza.

So his chemicals did have something to do with the assassin's guild. A grand total of 35% of his profit came from the assassins, so even if Taylor had been thinking about cutting them off he would risk bankruptcy. However, the less he knew about what the chemicals were used for, the better. After all, business was business- and he couldn't let his sense of justice get in the way of his profits- especially during these times when he needed the most to assist the Princess in securing Goldwater's seat and potentially tutoring a heir. He gave his own dry smile when Amon mentioned that he was planning to kill the young noble.

"I assure you, Sir Gregory, I will keep what I heard a secret. Also, you won't have to worry about my silence for long." He inclined his head. Moving on before the guildmaster could inquire about his last statement, he hastily pulled out a folder and studied them. "You may well understand, Sir Gregory, that our company deals with the assurance that most purchases are conducted with the privacy of the customer in mind. Unless you have valid search warrants from those of Martial authority that can be used in legal court I cannot allow you to personally view these records."

He nodded. "I will assist you any way I can, of course. Citric concentrates aren't sold, but rather the acid itself is sold. I'm breaking regulations here, but a unknown buyer purchased a unusually large amount of citric acid." He wrote something down on a slip of parchment. "However, neurotoxin ingredients are much harder to track. We don't specifically deal with them- most if not all of our venoms are handled very carefully, and all of it is sold to clinics as research for anti-venoms and the Marchfield Laboratories for additional research. If your suspect has purchased a neurotoxin, I can assure you with great confidence that the perpetrator will have some sort of link to the medical or scientific field." Looking through his files once more, he shook his head. "There are no outside purchases of ingredients or toxins outside of the medicinal areas and scientific areas these past three months."

He slid the papers back into his folder and placed them in his desk. He slid the paper over to Amon, and leaned back. "That is all I know, if it relates to Goldwater. I hope it has assis-"

Suddenly the noble experienced a fit of hysterical coughing. Hunching forward, he grabbed the canteen at his side and took a swig as his spasms subsided slightly. The physician was right. At this point, the medicine would have to be taken in much more regular doses in order to hide his symptoms. Looking up slightly, he realized he had regurgitated blood and stained the polished wood of his desk. He sighed inwardly. There was no hiding this from the assassin- lying would be laughable to one that was able to see through such fallacies.

"I trust... that you will not say a word to the princess." He said hoarsely. His calm, green eyes was blazing- a rare sight on the usually mellow nobleman.

District Beta

"Thank you... come again." The apprentice said, waving off a woman and a rather traumatized-looking child. Scowling at the back door, she walked over and opened it. The masked doctor was sterilizing the room. "Must you always be so frightening?" She asked, "The kid looks like he was pushed off the edge of the city!"

"I don't do well with children." He replied shortly.

"Whatever, but you've got yourself a letter, Master." She said, sighing. Etzel walked the length of the room and took the letter. "It's unmarked. I don't know who it is, but-"

"Hmm, sealed. Anthrax? No, they wouldn't be that obvious. Maybe some sort of gas- but it would diffuse out of the paper. She'd be dead. Unmarked is marked, seal of the killer. Perhaps a special paper? No, it feels and looks like regular mail."

"A-are you listening to me?" The apprentice asked rather hotly. "Oh, phooey!" She turned and stormed out.

Etzel had already held the letter at arm length and stabbed it with a syringe. No gases. No depressurization. No liquid. It was safe. Opening the letter, he began reading the contents.

Doctor,

Be at the Palace by tonight.

A.G

"Oh, okay."

Amon regarded Taylor neutrally in the wake of his coughing fit. That certainly explained the earlier remark about timing. "Contrary to the impression I may have given, I do not make a habit of telling Loki things that she neither knows to ask for nor needs to know. I would however, recommend that you do not keep your own silence for much longer. It can only prove a detriment to your cause if you do not disclose what might become an obstacle to future plans," he pointed out adroitly. "However, I hardly think it my job to assure your success, so I will not press the point."

Pausing for a moment, Amon stood, collecting his sword from the ground and reattaching it to his side. "You have my thanks for your assistance, Lord Taylor. Though I myself am loath to be thought of as an errand-runner, my charge does occasionally forget this, and so I ask that you meet us in the Princess's receiving room this evening. The pieces of Goldwater's murder are being assembled, so to speak, and she believes you should know of it, should you have any wish to." The Guildmaster's tone conveyed very subtly, but clearly, that he might have been more inclined to leave Taylor out of the loop, but perhaps that was simply his ingrained penchant for secrecy talking. The fewer people who kept a confidence, the better, but this was Loki's affair as well as his own, and she had insisted.

-=-

Black-cloaked assassins were stationed around the palace, and each had been given a very specific directive: find a particular person and bring them to the proper room, with as few words as possible. Another man had been sent to the train station that terminated at the Nexus, better to guide the healer who should be approaching from that direction. All would be in possession of the same seal that had graced the letters the people in question had received, and would expect that to stem the tide of questions. All would be led to a room on the south side of the massive building, the guards posted along the way mysteriously unconcerned with their presence (a deft change of the watch schedule to include most of the Guild members with positions in the Palace Guard).

-=-
The Royal Palace

Loki sat with Amon to her left, an empty chair to her right, at a surprisingly humble table. She'd considered the possibility of using the throne room, or at least something marginally more impressive in terms of authority, but had decided that ultimately, any of that would be counterproductive. she was disinclined to sit upon her mother's throne, anyway, a mixture of loyalty and apprehension greater than she could name made the thought most unpalatable indeed.

She still could have staged the room a bit more, but she had not. All she wanted from these people at present were answers, and she knew that at least a few of them would be much more likely to give her those if she approached this as diplomatically as possible. She had a feeling that each of the people she had summoned had a vital piece of information, some of which she knew, others she did not. The important thing was placing them all together to see if they might somehow intuit connections with their own memories and knowledge.

The room itself was warm in feel, decorated primarily in rich reds and brown. It didn't have as many books as her office proper, but there were still a few shelves along one wall, but the space was currently predominated by the cherry-wood table at which she was stationed, and the evenly-sized chairs scattered around it. The Princess was out of her attire from earlier that afternoon and back in formal dress, but unlike before, she wore her weapons openly about her waist. the contrast amused her, and perhaps it would lend some variety of credence to her intent, should any of her guests prove better-assuaged with an assurance of the ability to act through more than one channel, so to speak.

Of course, there was also the distinct possibility that someone would prove hostile, and she wished to dissuade all such inclinations as much as possible without the necessity of bloodying her carpet.

-=-
The Nexus- Estate of David Gilgamesh

The one-eyed assassin eyed the red-haired nobleman with something approaching distaste. He sometimes wished someone else were both unscrupulous and stupid enough to utilize the unique service that he and his men offered, and would hire him to be rid of the vermin at the desk, but alas... it was unlikely he would like them any more than this one anyway.

It mattered little. The coin he was earning this way was more than enough to blind him to any manner of depravity, and at least Gilgamesh's was directed solely at his enemies, be they real or perceived. Azazel had no idea just how throughly he was being played like the five-stringed lute; it was almost laughable. Oh certainly, the little rebel was charismatic and passionate, but he lacked the real subtlety that Gilgamesh had, and for that reason, he would lose every time.

"Do it," the Duke ordered flatly, and the one-eyed man bowed silently before leaving, making a gesture interpretable only to the men he had hidden on the premises.

It had been six months since Pandora had last seen District Alpha, six years since she'd been here for anything other than a visit to a patient. Education at the Facility finished for young magi at the age of seventeen, and she had been no different in this respect. Unlike most of her fellows, she had had cause to return.

Flanked by Eos and Icarus, the former of whom had wanted to come for reasons she had not inquired after, she stepped off the train line that terminated here at the Nexus. Icarus, she had brought along because he had expressed a desire to see the city, and it was not as though she was routinely welcomed up here, so she had seized the opportunity when it presented itself. She had resolved that if questioned on her company, she would claim that they were both her assistants- certainly an odd trio they made, but then it would probably be written off as the strangeness of Delta folk and ignored thenceforth. She didn't much fancy the idea of lying, but... when the truth could possibly get them arrested, she was willing enough to do it.

Before she had much time to wonder about where she was supposed to go, she was met by a woman dressed all in black, who appeared to be in her late thirties or so. "Pandora Elling?" she rasped, her voice clearly largely unused.

"Y-yes," Pan managed to stammer, and nodded when the woman held up a device with a seal engraved upon it- the same one as on the letter. Casting a dubious look at the two individuals in her company, the woman appeared to choose to ignore them, and simply set off further in towards the center of the city. The healer hastened to follow, taking a stride and a half from every one of the much taller woman's.

The architecture here really was extraordinary, a precise combination of science and artistry that left the young mage in awe every time she saw it. The buildings were all so tall, stretching skyward as if to challenge the moon itself. More impressive even than that, though, was the fact that nearly every road was lined with real, honest-to-goodness trees. You never saw trees in the outer districts; the air was much to polluted and the building far too close together for any such plant life to survive of have space.

As they wandered further and further in, she could see the Royal Palace coming into view. Of all the buildings in this place, there was no question that the Queen's abode was the most beautiful, all exact angles and sweeping arches, vaulted ceilings and stained windows, a veritable gleaming gem set in the very center of the city itself. Her patient must be quite well-off indeed, to live so close to this marvel of a structure.

When they reached the front gates and were admitted, Pan swallowed thickly, her wonderment turning swiftly to nervousness. "Um... are you sure this is the right place?" she ventured cautiously, receiving a curt nod for her trouble. The only people who lived within these walls full-time were the blood relatives (and those related by direct marriage) of Queen Minerva herself. Was it truly possible that she had been called to treat such a one? She was assaulted by a sick apprehension that roiled uncomfortably in her uncharacteristically-satiated stomach.

Through the twists and turns of seemingly-endless hallways were they led, until they reached a rich wooden door that was probably worth more than Pan's entire warehouse. The thought was an intimidating one, and she tentatively turned the knob and stepped inside.

Seated within were two people at the head of a table. The first, Pan thought was probably the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. She looked like a gracefully-carved statue or something, with rich, dark hair. There was something inherently unreadable about her face, and even to the intuitions afforded her by magic, the woman in the black dress was a rather imposing mystery. She suddenly felt very out-of-place indeed; more than she usually did amidst nobility, even, because there was something about this woman that just exuded flawless control and the slightest hints of intimidation.

The man next to her was dignified in posture and appearance, maybe in his fifties from the lines on his face and the gray to his hair. He was dressed similarly to the woman who led him here, and she had the sneaking suspicion that he was A.G. If so, she could sense no malady from him, which worried her a great deal. The cast of his face was a tad friendlier than the woman's though, and so it was to him she gave the expectant look of a child who does not quite know what to do.

The man smiled slightly, and gestured to the chairs around the large table. "Miss Elling, yes? You... and yours... may take a seat. Everything will be explained momentarily." If he was surprised by the extra company he did not show it, though she knew that his eyes followed not her, but another as she entered with tentative steps and heeded his advice, selecting a chair to the left side of the table, closer to the man than the woman.

The young nobleman smiled slightly at Amon's response. it was a matter of pride- asking for help of any kind is viewed as a sign of weakness in the court unless the situation changes the meaning. He had the money, and the power- if he wasn't able to control this without help he would be viewed as young as well as powerless. A more cynical excuse was that Taylor hated the current situation of Revelation- and quite honestly if he wasn't able to start a change he didn't want to be living on the floating city any longer. His frequent trips and attempts to restore the slums of Delta and Gamma has left imprints of starved faces going about business like autonomous shells. To be honest, they haunted the young man. If this disease was the result of his mingling among the sharp toxins of Delta, he would gladly suffer what effects it may have to have a general idea of how they lived. It aided speech making, and made his honesty more apparent when dealing with Parliament- the mass of ignorant fools that deals with fallacies and self-interest. He debated going to Loki and canceling the search for a heir- one mistake and the child would grow up to be just like one of them. He'd rather all his fortune go back to the throne.

"I will be at the palace tonight. Thank you for your message, Sir Gregory." He replied when the Guildmaster relayed the Princess' message to him. He was only a small pawn, despite his status. He had no intention of knowing the details behind Goldwater's death, unless it helped him dig out more information regarding the poison used to assassinate the man. At this point, Taylor was fairly sure that he didn't need to know anymore.

Gregory exited without a sound- impressive because the door really needed a new oiling on the hinges. He debated whether he should express his concerns about his life to the Princess. At this point, he couldn't divulge this information- it would only show to weaken his already small voice. He needed it to back the Princess in parliament when she decided to run for a seat. If she could secure a seat, no doubt she'll be able to learn the ways of the politician- and Taylor could relax. He wiped the bodily fluid off the desk and turned to look out the window to a gray chemical factory. The sad thing was for the poor noble was that he resigned himself to fact that he was going to die soon. He should begin writing some sort of will so his workers get reimbursement. With his death, Taylor Chemicals would drop and people would be laid off for a short while.

---

The syringes he hid on his body remained unfound as the guards regarded the masked doctor curiously. He shouldn't have gotten in this easily, but he was fairly certain Amon might have had something to do with this. Unless, of course, the man wanted him dead. Suddenly, the paranoid doctor began looking around for spots to avoid, escape routes, and debated hotly whether to test any food offered to him for poisons. Out loud, of course.

As the others might have grew to realize this man may not be altogether in the head, Etzel moved over to a indistinct area of the room where he had a clear view of the happenings. The princess sat, and he recognized Amon to her left. As he looked around, he noticed Pandora Elling, the strange beggar, and a kid enter the room. Strange- the invited residents of Delta to something like this? He was about to go down and harass the beggar for touching his mask, but decided better of it. He still hadn't figured out a nice escape route if Amon suddenly called an arrow storm on his position. First, he would duck behind the pillar to his left, and possibly kill a pursuing assassin attempting to finish off the weakened target. What next? He would be pinned down by archers. He talked to nobody but himself, but the rather sparse area provided him with some space in which to act insane without much outside knowledge. The tinted lens hid his eye movement as he observed each attendee for potential weapons. He noted that a rather gaunt-looking nobleman carried an epieu not-so-subtly.

---

The gathering was rather calm, and in quite a small place when regarding the size of the palace itself. He didn't question Loki, nor did he approach her- after all, the one time he met her was in private. However, if he caught her eye he would blink slowly, then walk away. He made sure he had taken a dose of his poultice before leaving for the palace, and he had his canteen completely filled before he had arrived. Gilgamesh was present, but he ignored him. Unless he was speaking, there was no reason to confront the man.

He quickly took a seat and tried to look inconspicuous. Even in the palace, which was supposedly warmer he felt rather chilled. There were few people, and he recognized very few of them himself.

The evening was setting in, as Giacomo made his way to the palace. To save time he took backstreets that one normally would avoid when the sun was under. The few streetlights that stood along those streets didn't do much more than make the streets look scarier. The metal tools in his pockets crashed against eachother as Giacomo hastenly made his way to the palace, through the nearly empty streets. Avoiding the market streets was always a good idea if you needed to go somewhere fast, as even in the evening those streets were crowded, but taking the route less traveled also meant meeting the more shady side on the population, and Giacomo wasn't armed. Fortunatly the others on these streets didn't seem to pay much attention to Giacomo and many didn't even bother to look away from the stones that they were walking on.

After a long walk to the palace he was stopped at the entrance, not too surprising, but these were no ordinary gaurds. They were clothed in black, like the guilds assasins. "Giacomo Vernazza, I presume?" the one in front of him asked as he showed a seal, exactly the seal that had been on the letter. Giacomo had no idea what was going on, and nodded as an answer to the question. He was on edge, as one would expect. Things were just so, uncommon. First the strange letter, written by Amon about the elevator in the palace, something he had no bussiness with, and now these men, obviously amons assasins. The man in front of him waved him to follow. Seeing this as the best option, given that he is standing against armed assasins, he follows the man.

The man led him to a small room of the palace, there he saw many familiar faces. The doctor from Delta, the baloon boy, Amon Gregory and ofcourse princess Loki, who wouldn't recognise her. He looked at the setup of the room and decided to take a seat next to the doctor, which would seat him right in front of Amon. He looked through the room, it was quite stylish, not realy his taste. But then again there wouldn't be many who'd like his interior either.

Alright Eos, stay calm. You're just overthinking this. the odd trio walked across Alpha with a distance surrounding them. It was much too obvious that they were not of 'proper' stock. An estranged look here, a sneer there, although not particularly dauntng they added up. Eventually even the man who sent other scurrying back into their holes with a glance was writhing under his skin--and the scrutiny. Thankfully, Pandora led them to the palace in short order. The guard at the door irked Eos some more, the audacious woman making Pandora squirm.

Inside, familiar scents and sights hit him much harder than he would have thought. So many memories came flooding back, images coming to mind unbidden. Too many. Taking up the rear of their little procession Eos took a shuddering breath and squeezed his hands into tight fists. Don't think about it. The past is the past. It wouldn't have happened that way if it wasn't meant to be. somehow that felt hypocritical. At this very moment he was using an old teaching that his master had repeated several times when the younger Eos came back from a failed mission.

Now, a bit of wisdom he had repressed through binge drinking and lazing about in a drunken haze for the past several years was helping to cope with the death of some whom the person who had taught said wisdom basically killed. Irony. It's a bitch sometimes, Eos thought sullenly. Dark thoughts began creeping past the inner mantra the Hand tried to shield his mind with, threatening to absorb Eos in a self-depricating stupor once more when they stopped walking. Eos didn't realize this until he bumped into Icarus. "Sorry," the taciturn man said while looking around the room.

Odd to meet people here, he thought. Nobles usually preferred small rooms with overly large tables, conspiratorial papers stack high and half-naked young boys serving exotic foods. Well, they could always tear off Icarus's shirt and fill that position. Despite the depraved notion it actually made Eos snicker. Still taking in his surroundings, Eos almost cried out when he saw the freakishly masked man from the clinic sitting not too far away. More inspection would have been warranted but the unsettling body language Icarus expressed led him to believe he was uncomfortable with...something...the fact that he separated himself from their lady companion attested to at least one of these factors.

So, the darker skinned of the three took his seat inbetween Pandora and Icarus. Or, at least he would have, if his eyes weren't glued to who else sat at the table. The girl from prison. Little queen in training...still looked too much like Minerva for anything but contempt, yet she did save him from a possible hanging or numerous rounds of torture. That meant something at least. Yet it was not the princess who warranted his rapt attention. It was the cleanly-dressed blight of a man at Loki's side. Eos froze, taking time to do something he rarely did when faced with an obstacle: Think.

That lasted all of two seconds before the former Hand of Tartarus snapped. Reaching back, Eos caught the back of the heavy oaken chair in a white-knuckle grip and sent it sailing across the table towards Amon with seemingly effortless ease. Eos leapt on to the table after it, completely ignoring all other guests in the room and making a mad dash for the bastard who had destroyed what pittance of a life he had shared with Selene. Two feet from the edge the pugilist vaulted into the air to bring down his heel in a vicious kick that would splinter wood and bone alike, aiming to shatter Amon Gregory's ribs in a gory mess.

Even from the his lofty position so high above the gathering, Eos could imagine a wicked grin forming across the face of a certain princess. It did not materialize, of course, but Eos felt he knew Loki well enough to recognize what would and what would not make her smile. If only the girl appreciated jests as much as she did the cold satisfaction of inching closer to the kill, Eos thought, they would be on better terms. Taylor would have gotten a kick out of them. Probably.

Eos adjusted himself to get more comfortable on the beam. Below, the next to be questioned stepped forth. It took Eos a moment to make out the face from that distance, but eventually he came to the conclusion that the man speaking was Gilgamesh's boy. It struck him as odd that Seth would take part in this engagement at all. Surely Gilgamesh would not have even allowed the boy to come unless he was sure that Seth was utterly incorruptible in his faith for his father. Of course, Eos pondered realized with a thoughtful frown, it was possible that Seth had told his father nothing of the events that took place between Loki and himself. Eos gripped the edge of the beam. Despite these thoughts, he could not help but view Seth as an enemy.

When Seth said that Loki was the one who had broken in to his estate without hesitation for the entire assembly to hear, Eos almost bit through his tongue. That kid was either honest to a fault, or he was intentionally trying to play both sides. After a moment's consideration, the former was much more likely. That man did not have the predatory edge that a good, cutthroat politician requires to survive. As Loki raised her voice to get the trial moving again, Eos smirked. She was really something. Most people would have just deflected the entire focus back on to Gilgamesh, but Loki scored points for honesty by admitting her guilt. If they did come out of this, her actions would be seen as a necessary evil and Loki would be given no more than a slap on the wrist. Smart.

The assassin's wolfish smile widened somewhat upon recognizing Seth's awkward shuffling. This shift in demeanor was just another thing that could be picked at. Eos shook his head; That boy had no place in this room. The irony of that statement was lost on the assassin, however. He continued to listen until the word 'sacrifice' came up, which gave Eos pause, but did not keep him from his vigilance. As Eos absorbed the statements he was scanning the room for any deliberate movements, any signs that someone was getting ready to end the trial prematurely. There were too many cases in history when one party was losing, that a zealous follower took out an enemy and allowed their leader to go free. It did not occur to Eos that, despite his watch for Gilgamesh's zealot, he was playing the same role for Loki.

As the tale unfolded, Eos found his attention focused solely on Seth. So much so that he was slow to respond when Carlisle appeared out of thin air. The younger assassin's hand was glued to his cinqueda, ready to slash open Carlisle's throat for a split-second. When the man spoke of Loki, Eos relaxed. So she was worried. How sweet. Eos offered Carlisle a small nod before returning his regard to the proceedings. It was not until Carlisle indicated a group of like-dressed individuals did Eos unhook the latches on his suitcase. Within lay a set of ten throwing-knives bundled together, a grapple and hook, and several smoke bombs and... He flashed a grin at Carlisle and held up a sack containing a quintet of spherical objects a bit larger than a fist. "Granada. Flip the switch, wait for it to tick twice, and throw it. Make sure you aim for clusters of 'em, at least four, or you'll be wasting it. Pray at the grave of the bird-masked man when this is all over, if you liked what his invention does."

After shoving the bundle into his hands, Eos did not give Carlisle a second glance. He was already setting up the grapple and rope to rappel down into the forming melee. He had only ever used one of the bombs, but the result was devastating. A blast roughly four meters in radius of gunpowder and razor-sharp bits of glass and steel propelled faster than the eye could see all but decimated the practice-dummies in the Guild combat-hall. Eos would have taken pleasure in witnessing his fellow assassin's face when the first granada detonated, but he was already swinging across the room.

Loki had her own situation well at hand, so for once in his life, Eos did not choose to aid the damsel in distress. Instead, the assassin allowed his momentum to carry him forward and slid down on the rope until he was practically gliding through the turbulent throng of bodies. Startled combatants gasped, cried out in alarm and parted before Eos as he hit the floor in a dead run. The first unfortunate foe to grab Eos' attention was summarily tackled with a shoulder to the ribs that ended with a loud crack. Eos arrested his swift advance and glanced at the writhing dissenter before looking at Taylor. Eos turned aside a spear-thrust with the palm of his hand before stepping forward and ramming the man's throat with the heel of his other hand. The soldier dropped his weapon and sunk to the floor, making wet gurgling noises.

"Greetings, lord Taylor." Eos said with a huff of exertion. He slipped his hands through the clawed gauntlets at his belt and flexed the armored digits once. Test complete, the assassin withdrew a small flintlock pistol, a miquelet, and pressed it to Taylor's palm. Eos paid no heed to the man's wounds as he untied the small satchel at his waist and handed it over. "Aim, cock it, and fire. Reload takes a little bit of time, so try not to be too exposed when doing so."

Eos did not expect Taylor to be able to get more than a single round off, but that was no longer his concern. He had aided the man directly, provided further means of defense and was now intent on helping further by downing any and all foes he encountered. Even before Eos could take ten steps away from Taylor, he was engaged by a rapier-wielding member of the organization Carlisle had indicated earlier. Eos swatted away one, two, three strikes and riposted. The resulting wound was a deep hole under the man's armpit that was bleeding profusely. The assassin shook some of the blood off of his gauntlet and ran to assist in another area.